


The Sorcerer and the Stranger

by Ganelon8



Series: Böðvarrs ek Höttrs saga [1]
Category: Hrólfs saga kraka, Icelandic saga
Genre: A bit of drama, Actual Saga Dudes™, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Kissing, M/M, Magic, Minor Character Death, Norse Court Life, Romance, bone yeeting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-03-23
Updated: 2019-03-23
Packaged: 2019-11-28 16:02:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,975
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18210500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ganelon8/pseuds/Ganelon8
Summary: When a stranger named Böðvarr comes to court, Höttr really isn't sure what to make of him, especially since he starts hanging out with him even though he's known as being a sorcerer. After a rather memorable first day, they become friends, but could it become something more?





	The Sorcerer and the Stranger

From the moment that Böðvarr strode into the hall, looking for all the world as though he were the lord here and not Hrólf, it was apparent that he was a man not to be trifled with. No one in the hall knew his name at this point though, or that he had stabled his horse next to King Hrólf’s own finest beasts, or that in barely a week’s time he would become a champion among Hrólf’s warriors. The people barely looked over to see him enter. 

Höttr was trying to keep to the shadows on the edge of the hall, as he usually did. He was required to show his face here for a time, but he didn’t have to like it. He had one of his few books with him, one of the few books in the hall to be honest, and was glancing up from the pages every minute or so to make sure no one was coming over to him. As the sole sorcerer in this court, he often found himself the target of various unhumorous pranks and jokes from the warriors, and he had no desire to draw attention to himself from this stranger. 

The others in the hall were all seated at the long tables near the fires. The warriors were half dressed for battle, and the few gathered nobles were in colorful finery too good for a regular mealtime such as this. They all paid the newcomer no heed.

For his part, the stranger seemed to care as little for the warriors as they did for him. He was tall and imposing, with hair pulled back presumably for practicality and garbed in a mail shirt with many weapons strapped to his back and belt. From his build and the graveness of his face, it was easy to picture him quickly besting any of the warriors here.

As the man glanced about the hall, his eyes inevitably fell onto Höttr. He tried not to shrink or cover his face with the book or pull the shadows up around him. By the time he got his wits together to glare back, the man’s stare had moved on.

Höttr let out a breath he didn’t know he had been holding. He pressed his back further against the wall and raised the book, but was careful to not take his eyes off the stranger.

The man seemed to finish surveying the hall, and looked back to Höttr before making his way over. Now Höttr began to panic in earnest, and he raised the pages further to try and hide the fact that he had been staring.

This close, the stranger was even taller, though it didn’t help that Höttr was seated on the ground. But he looked younger than Höttr had initially guessed, and he did not seem to be unfriendly. His gaze seemed to hold only curiosity, and perhaps friendliness too, but that might have been just what Höttr hoped to see.

“What are you doing here?” the man said.

“I’m just sitting here, good sir,” Höttr said, shutting the book and trying a smile.

“Why do you not sit with the others?” The stranger crouched down, so that he was more of a level with Höttr rather than looming over him. It made him seem much less intimidating, which was a good thing, but it also let Höttr see his face better, which again should have been a good thing, but was just confirming that along with being in excellent physical condition, this man was also very handsome. That wasn’t particularly something Höttr wanted to think about when he was being interrogated by a strange warrior who had enough weapons on his person to fill a small armoury. The man was staring at him in turn, though presumably sizing Höttr up to see if he was a threat, which physically he certainly was not. Whenever things did come to a fight, though, Höttr was not defenceless.

“I’m a sorcerer, good sir, they would not want me there. And I am no noble. Besides, I have one of the few books here, so can read instead,” Höttr said. It wasn’t the most interesting of books, but it was an illustrated treatise in Latin on various plants and where they could be found and how they could be used medicinally, so it was useful. And it was his. 

The man paused for a moment, and Höttr held his breath, hoping that he wasn’t going to be scared now that Höttr had admitted he could do magic. “I am Böðvarr. What is your name?”

“My name is Höttr,” he said. 

The stranger, Böðvarr, nodded more to himself than anything, then stood up. As he did, he grabbed Höttr’s arm and set him on his feet. Höttr almost let out a cry and nearly dropped his book, but he was standing now and had yet to fall on his face.

“What are you doing?” Höttr said, tucking the book into his belt as he tried to look imposing. He felt a spark at his fingertips as he pulled a few of the shadows closer. “Are you going to kill me, my friend?” 

Böðvarr looked shocked at that, and said, “Of course not!” He took a step away and held his hands up. “I should not have just stood you up, so I’m sorry for that.”

“That’s fine. But… what do you want with me?”

“I met a married farmer couple on my way here,” Böðvarr said. “They told me their son was at Hrólf’s hall, and when I said that the hall was my destination, they asked me to make certain he was doing well there.”

Of all the things Böðvarr could have said, this was the last thing Höttr had expected. He stepped forward and gripped Böðvarr’s arm. “Are my parents alright?” 

“They were happy and in good health, and sent their best wishes to you, as well as this pack with some new robes and other things,” Böðvarr said. He shouldered a bag off his back that Höttr hadn’t even noticed, and not simply because he was distracted by the little smile that had begun to spread across Böðvarr’s lips.

“Thank you,” Höttr said, grinning as well. “I, ah, hope that you had a good stay with them.”

“I did. They told me of other travelers they’ve welcomed, and of a few heroes who stayed at their hearth,” Böðvarr said. “But they were even prouder when they spoke of their son.”

Now that was unfair. Höttr blinked away some warmth that briefly came over his eyes, and his smile softened. “They are too kind to me. Thank you for telling me this, my friend.”

“It’s no trouble,” Böðvarr said, smiling as well. 

Höttr belatedly realized he was still grabbing the other man’s arm, so he released it and stepped back. “I’m sorry… But again, thank you. This is the best news I’ve had in an age.”

“No need to apologize, and I’m very happy to have brought you this news, especially if it pleases you. This will be rude, but it doesn’t seem that the king and his men here value your skills,” Böðvarr said, glancing down at what Höttr wore. They had once been decent robes, but were now tattered on the sleeves, and had stains from various alchemical mixtures and a bit of blood on them. Also, Höttr supposed, from the way he had been hiding in the corner it was no surprise that he was uncomfortable around the warriors.

Höttr shrugged, shifting a bit from one foot to the other. 

“Come outside with me,” Böðvarr said, and turned to lead the way. Höttr paused a moment, but when he turned back to see if Höttr was following, he did walk after.

It was early afternoon, and the early winter sun was just beginning to dip back towards the mountains. The snow underfoot crunched and glittered from the sunlight, which didn’t do much against the biting, still cold that hung in the air. The shadows were long and blue on the snow, stretching out behind pine trees as Böðvarr walked down the slope of the hill that the hall sat atop, making his way off the path. After about a minute of walking, they came to the lake, which was now frozen over. 

“This is yours,” Böðvarr said, handing over the pack he had shown Höttr before. 

The robe was the first thing Höttr saw when he opened it, and the fabric was soft and clean. Inside, also were some knitted mittens, two small pots of jam, and some baked goods wrapped in a clean scarf. He felt homesick just looking at the carefully packed presents from home. He would go back to see how his parents were doing in springtime when the roads were easier, he promised himself. 

Böðvarr knelt down by the edge of the lake, seemingly uncaring of the snow, and unsheathed a sword from his belt. He used the pommel to bash through the ice on the edge, which was possible since winter had only just arrived. He said, “Toss me your old clothes, and I’ll wet them so you can clean yourself before you change into the new ones.”

Höttr turned and stripped himself to his underclothes as fast as he could, tossing his old tunic, trousers, and robe behind him. 

“Hold out your hand,” Böðvarr said from behind him, so he did and gripped the bundle of fabric that was set in his hand. He held a portion of his old robes that had been wet in the lake, the inside turned out. 

“Thank you,” Höttr said as he used the cloth to clean himself up. He kept his face as clean as he could and bathed as regularly as anyone else, but during winter that inevitably became a bit less regular than in spring. He hoped that he hadn’t smelled too bad, but felt that surely he did, otherwise Böðvarr wouldn’t be going through this now.

Once he had quickly dried himself, he began pulling on the new tunic and trousers. They felt soft against his skin, and smelled of cedar, sage, and honey, as his home always did in his memories. Höttr turned as he was belting the new tunic, still with the same belt that held his pouches and knife on it. 

Böðvarr was standing by now, and he had already gotten another portion of the old set of robes wet. “It’s stained, but with a good washing should be made decent,” Böðvarr said as Höttr took the robe once more and began to scrub at his face.

Rather than answer, he just nodded. The water was frigid, and he was starting to shiver as a chill wind picked up. Höttr pulled the robe all the way on, and brushed back his hair, which was starting to feel frosted. “Am I suitable now?”

For a moment, Böðvarr looked him over, a hand under his own chin. “You were suitable anyway,” he said after the moment stretched on. “But now, you’ll look impressive to Hrólf’s courtiers.”

“I think I shall need to grow another foot taller, and have shoulders slightly less thin for that to happen, but thank you all the same,” Höttr said. “Now then, should we return to the hall?” They talked together a little as they headed back, but it was impossible to not notice that Höttr was cold, so Böðvarr kept them going at a decent pace uphill and towards the threshold of the hall.

They entered the hall together once more, Böðvarr striding in once more with his wide gait. Höttr hung back, deliberately keeping himself a few steps behind and hoping that Hrólf’s warriors wouldn’t notice them. The confidence he had felt earlier seemed to ebb away once he stepped foot again into the hall. Either way, that wish for anonymity was in vain, because Böðvarr lead him to one of the tables, which was currently empty. 

Höttr held back as the other man approached one of the seats near the table’s head. “You don’t mean for us to sit here, surely, good sir?” Höttr said.

“Why should we not?” Böðvarr said. He sat himself down, and leaned back. 

“These are for the king’s lords, and his champions,” Höttr said. He tried not to make it obvious that he was glancing back at the warriors, who only now were starting to take notice of the two men near the head of the table

“If anyone here had half a mind, they’d be treating their sorcerer as though they were a lord,” Böðvarr said. “But it seems they don’t. So take a seat. If anyone tries anything, I’ll stop them.” 

One of the servers had already made their way over with some food and a jug of ale, which Böðvarr thanked them for. Höttr waited half a moment longer, before moving to sit on his right. But before he did, Böðvarr moved down, giving him the seat higher up the table.

“Do you want something to eat?” Böðvarr said, pushing the tray between them.

Höttr gingerly sat, keeping his eyes on his new dining companion rather than the warriors. “I do not know if I could keep something down right now,” he said quietly. 

Böðvarr had leaned in a bit to hear his words better, and his proximity was making Höttr nervous in a different way. He stared at Höttr for a long moment in which he could hear his heartbeat echo in his ears, then said, trying to return the whisper but unable to speak as quietly, “We can sit elsewhere if you prefer. I did not mean to push you.”

At that, he let out a long breath. “No, but thank you, my friend,” Höttr said, still in a low voice. “I have… only experienced ill from these folk. I would not do something like this on my own.” He made himself sit up a bit, and said lightly louder, “I would have something to drink, if it’s no trouble, good sir.”

“Not at all,” Böðvarr said, and poured him a drink. He smiled as he passed it over, and Höttr returned the smile as he thanked him.

For a time, it seemed that nothing bad would happen. Höttr found himself starting to relax as he and Böðvarr spoke. He asked Böðvarr where he had traveled from, and what had brought him to Hrólf’s court. He had been drifting from place to place, Böðvarr explained, and he had no real home at the moment. He had fought in various battles, but that seemed to be behind him. He happened to come across the farmstead of Höttr’s parents, and after being invited to stay and help for a time, he agreed to bring a package to their son and see how he had been since joining the court. Böðvarr spoke plainly but openly, and Höttr found himself speaking more openly in turn than he had with anyone in ages. Böðvarr had him smiling, and even laughing, before too much longer had passed.

As they spoke, Höttr paid somewhat less attention to the room than he usually did. The reason he noticed precisely when something began to happen was because he was staring right at Böðvarr, who it seemed had been keeping an eye on the rest of the room. 

Höttr quieted immediately and grew sober once more as he glanced over to see a few of the warriors had stood up and stalked over to where he sat with Böðvarr. These four men were all tall and burly, and they were all armed. Böðvarr, he noticed with some pleasure, was actually taller than them. 

“Getting above yourself, necromancer?” one of the men said. Höttr recognized him easily enough as Arnórr, who was considered one of the best of Hrólf’s warriors. He wore a sneer rather than a smile, and Höttr had never been particularly fond of him. 

“I am not,” Höttr said quietly, looking down rather than meet the warrior’s gaze.

“Then what’re you doing at the table with those of us who fight for the king?” one of the others said, crossing his arms.

“I asked Höttr to sit with me, and he was kind enough to oblige,” Böðvarr said. “He is a good man.” 

“I’ve not seen you here before, stranger, so you don’t know the complexities around here like the rest of us do,” Arnórr said. “This fellow is a necromancer, so he’s more likely to poison your drink than share one with you. You’d best watch yourself, since he’ll be raising your corpse again if he gets a chance to slay you in such a cowardly manner.” 

“I have never done such a thing,” Höttr said quietly.

“Aye, because we’ve never given you a chance!” one of the warriors said.

“But you did mix the poison that Gerðr Ólafrsdáttr used to kill her husband before she ran off, did you not?”

That much was true enough, but these men had no care for how Gerðr had been tormented by her husband. She was one of the few who had made friends with Höttr upon his arrival at Hrólf’s court, and he had not been able to turn a blind eye to her troubles. So Höttr had made her a poison and helped her escape, then she had returned to her own parents’ hall since she was still a noblewoman. They had welcomed her back, and she was still receiving offers of marriage from other men, more legible than the last, but she had yet to accept any of them.

So rather than try and explain any of this, Höttr said, “I have done nothing to harm you nor shall I. Please, return to your meal.” 

“How dare you order me around like that, you peasant?!” Arnórr said, reaching down to grab the front of Höttr’s shirt. Before he had a chance to get a grip, though, in one movement Böðvarr stood and shoved him away. 

“How dare you attempt to harm a member of your king’s own band, in his own court?” Böðvarr said. His voice was close to a growl, and his brow had dropped low. He was glowering now at the four warriors, all of whom took involuntary steps backwards. It was impossible to miss the weapons that Böðvarr carried, and as Böðvarr continued to glower, the men stepped further away. 

Everyone knew the stories of men who would give themselves over to battle lust and rage, berserkers who could take the spirits of animals within themselves and fight like men possessed. Never before had Höttr seen someone who might be one such warrior, though. As the four warriors moved back to their seats further down the table, and Böðvarr tried to calm his breathing and smooth out his glower, Höttr simply stared up at him in mute astonishment.

“Are you unharmed?” Böðvarr said after a moment. His voice still sounded rough. Staring up at him, he suddenly looked very out of place in the wooden confines of the hall. Seeing him on a battlefield or out in the woods would be much more natural than here, yet here Böðvarr stood. 

“I am. But, my friend, are you alright?” Höttr said. 

“They couldn’t harm me, and they won’t harm you so long as I am here,” Böðvarr said, sitting down again. “I promise you that, and I never break my word.”

“Good sir, I should hate for you to come to harm because of me! Please, this isn’t worth your notice,” Höttr said. 

Böðvarr shook his head slightly, and said, “You are worth protecting. Besides, I will not be in danger.”

It was a moment while Höttr pulled himself together after that statement before he could respond. His ears still felt warm as he said, “But some of these men here are quick to start a fight. If they did…”

“If it ever does come to a fight, I should rather be on your side than theirs,” Böðvarr said. His grin as he spoke was different than his smiles from before, as though something of that bear or wolf spirit still lingered in him from the moment of anger. 

Höttr found himself perhaps more pleased by that statement than he ought to have been, so he pulled the job over again and said, “Thank you for all you’ve done for me already, my friend. May I pour you a drink?”

Böðvarr thanked him and they both drank. It seemed that all of the trouble was avoided for that evening, until less than a quarter hour later the four warriors had drunk more than a few cups each to suffer the embarrassment from earlier. Höttr was doing his best to ignore them, keep his nerves in order, and continue enjoying the conversation when from the corner of his eye he saw something sail by him and Böðvarr, clattering to the floor beyond them.

There were a few chuckles from the warriors. Whatever the object was, Höttr felt fairly sure in his guess that the projectile had come from their direction. 

A quick glance up towards Böðvarr to see if he had noticed showed that he had, but he made no sign to get up and sit elsewhere.

“Good sir,” Höttr said in a low voice. He didn’t notice as he reached his own hand out, tightly gripping Böðvarr’s wrist. “We should move.”

“Do not worry,” Böðvarr said, not turning away from his gaze.

Once more, a bone flew by, this one with somewhat better aim. Before it could hit either of them, Böðvarr’s hand which was not being currently grasped shot out and plucked it from the air. He showed it to Höttr and turned the object over a few times. It looked to be some sort of knuckle bone. 

There were more jeers from Arnórr and his cohort further down the table. 

Höttr saw the moment that Böðvarr’s brow lowered, and his neutral expression turned into a grimace. Böðvarr pulled back the hand that still had the knucklebone, and sent it back where it had come from. His aim was true, and it hit Arnórr right in the forehead, sending him careening backwards. 

With a loud crack, Arnórr fell to the floor. There was a moment of silence before anybody reacted. Arnórr’s eyes were still open, but he wasn’t speaking. There was a bit of blood on the ground starting to pool out from the back of his head. 

“Is he…” Böðvarr said, barely above a whisper. Höttr could barely hear him, and they were right next to each other. When he glanced up, he saw that Böðvarr’s eyes were wide, and his mouth was once more stretched into a grimace. But he was paler now, and the thin scar above his eyebrows stood out. 

“You’ve killed him!!” one of the men who had crouched down next to Arnórr said, glancing up to Böðvarr with his own wide eyes. 

Böðvarr said nothing as he sat back down, picking up his drink once again.

“You’ve gone and killed him, and now you’ve just going to have a drink, bastard?!” the man said, shooting to his feet.

“Arnórr was so deep in his cups that if any of us had given Arnórr even a tap, he might have fallen over for us too, then his death would be on us,” one of the others said in a voice that wasn’t as low as it ought to have been to the man who just stood.

“Sit down, Bjørn, we certainly won’t be fighting this man,” another man said. He looked moderately more sober than the other two, and put a hand on the shoulder of the first man, Bjørn. 

For the rest of the evening, the warriors were quiet, and none of them heckled Böðvarr or Höttr any further. They sat together, quiet at first, then they spoke together again, moe subdued than they had been earlier.

“You are prodigiously strong, my friend,” Höttr said, taking a drink of ale.

Böðvarr shrugged a bit, and said, “It means I should be more careful.” 

“Most people wouldn’t fall from something so small hitting them, and the others said that he had been drinking,” Höttr said. 

“Yes, but some of the blame still lies with me,” Böðvarr said. He deliberated for a moment, staring at the grain of the table, before taking a long knife from his belt and setting it down on the table between them, blade pointed towards himself. The pommel, hilt, and metal of the blade itself were nicked and scarred. “I have served before in battle, and war,” he said, voice still low and scratchy as he spoke. “I should be better.”

There was half a second where Höttr wanted to put his hand out to touch Böðvarr’s, but he did not. “I cannot speak for your conscience where Arnórr is concerned, but you did stand up for me,” Höttr said. Böðvarr did look up at that, and their eyes met once more. “No one has done that in a very long time. You have my thanks for this, and my gratitude.” He pushed the knife away from himself, since it seemed it was being offered to him.

As he was pushing it away, Böðvarr brought his hand down, catching Höttr’s in his own. Höttr could feel the callouses on the larger hand as Böðvarr wrapped his hand up in his own. At the touch, Höttr felt his face heat up, but seemed unable to be worried about if he was blushing now because all he could think of was the fact that Böðvarr had just taken ahold of his hand and surely his heart was beating loud enough that it could be heard. 

“You have my gratitude, too, for your kindness,” Böðvarr said, still in the same low voice. 

He nodded, not trusting his voice right away. “We are friends, good sir,” Höttr said, making sure that his pitch remained even. “Think nothing of it.”

That night Höttr thought it would be impossible for him to sleep at all. He could not help but think over the events of the day again and again, and worry of the troubles that might come to him and Böðvarr from them. 

He was sleeping near Böðvarr, and so heard when the man sat up in the night for a time. He didn’t go anywhere, but simply sat. He was silhouetted by the fire, which had grown dim by now, so Höttr saw him take out some sort of necklace from under his tunic, and grasp the amulet as he sat up and stared into the dying fire.

Sometime before dawn, though, Höttr did fall asleep, and wake again when the sun had fully risen.

He spent most of the next day showing Böðvarr around the hall and introducing him to the folk properly. His name had gotten around by now, and while some people were standoffish, many were eager to meet a man with such strength in his arms. Word had also gotten around that some of Arnórr’s cohort had already headed off on the day’s ride to where the king was staying, to alert Hrólf as to the events that had transpired. Some of the desire to meet Böðvarr was also surely from that same curiosity, especially since there were a few different ideas of what King Hrólf’s reaction would be that were passed from person to person when they thought Böðvarr and Höttr were out of earshot.

A day or two later, King Hrólf himself did show up, demanding to know how his warrior had been slain. Without ornamentation, Böðvarr explained how the man had thrown bones at Höttr, so Böðvarr had simply thrown one back. At that, Hrólf tossed his head back and let out a belly laugh, and said that it seemed justice had acted here of its own accord. 

“Would you care to join my war band, Böðvarr Bjarki? You seem a capable man, and you do owe me a replacement for the man you killed,” Hrólf said.

“Only if my friend here can join as well,” Böðvarr said, glancing to Höttr who stood next to him. “And if you and your men give oaths that you will treat him better than before.”

Hrólf’s pale eyes flickered briefly from Böðvarr to Höttr, as though he were sizing him up and seeing someone too small for warfare much more inclined for sorcery. None of that was a lie though, and magic had its uses. Höttr tried to stand tall, but the brief moment passed and Hrólf looked back to Böðvarr and said that he agreed.

So that was how Höttr found himself joining Hrólf’s war band for the second time. 

This time there was someone who was very willing to spend time with him, and the warriors were no longer openly hostile, probably from a combination of fear of Böðvarr and respect for the king having been currently in residence. Either way, this was far better than it had been before. 

Winter was only beginning now, so it would be a while before the king had a chance to see his new retainer in combat, but there would surely be prize fights within the halls when the snow reached the edges of the roof outside. 

A week passed, and it seemed that Böðvarr was liked by everyone at the court, but for the friends of Arnórr who still felt that the tragedy was solely the fault of the newcomer. Böðvarr still continued spending time with Höttr, which he enjoyed more than he cared to admit. They sat together during meals, and when he saw Höttr read, he asked what the book was on. At night, when the warriors all found their places around the hall, they would sit up quietly for a time before sleeping. They found excuses to speak throughout the day, and their conversations were easy, as though they had known one another years rather than less than a fortnight. 

“Böðvarr,” Höttr said one evening as they sat up after the evening meal, each with a cup of cider, near enough the fire which was still burning warmly, “Did you intend to swear yourself to King Hrólf when you came here?”

“Not originally,” Böðvarr said, taking a sip from his tankard. 

“Do you not mind that he somewhat pressed you into service?” Höttr said. 

Böðvarr shrugged. “Once I was here, I decided I wanted to stay.”

He wanted to ask if it was because he felt guilty over Arnórr’s death, and what he had meant afterwards about having served in battle before, and who his old lord had been. That all seemed as though it might be prying a bit more than Böðvarr was willing to share, so instead he kept his tone as light as he could and said, “That shall be good for me, at least. Having you here has been nice.”

At that, Böðvarr smiled. “I’m glad of that.”

He took a drink again, but his own smile was still visible even when he set the cup aside. Someone sleeping under one of the tables was snoring loudly, and there were some sounds from a few other sleepers scattered about the hall. Höttr half wanted to suggest they step outside for a time, since the stars and the near full moon would provide light enough to see by, rather than remain here. It was cold, though, and besides, he was happy enough here. Böðvarr shifted a bit on the bench, as if realizing as well that folk were sleeping, and brought himself somewhat closer so it would be easier to speak quietly. Their knees were just about touching now under the table, and that brought the warmth from earlier back to Höttr’s cheeks.

He needed something to say, and quickly, before he blurted out something foolish. He was far too distracted by how close they now were to one another. “Er, Böðvarr?”

“Yes?”

“Do you not mind being friends with a sorcerer at all?” He half regretted it as soon as he did say it, but Böðvarr was already very aware that many of the folk at court avoided Höttr for this reason.

“I don’t mind. I don’t know much about magic, but I know that it can be used for many things. I’ve only seen you use it to help heal some people, and mix up some poultices. I can hardly imagine you hurting anyone, though I’m sure you could,” Böðvarr said. “And besides, I rather like you.”

Oh. Höttr couldn’t stop staring at him. They were close enough that he could see a slight blush on Böðvarr’s cheeks as well under the tan left from a summer spent outdoors. 

“Do you mean as friends, or…” Surely he wasn’t imagining the warmth that seemed to be separating them, nor the fondness on Böðvarr’s face. And even if he were misinterpreting it, they were friends and that would be able to last the beginnings of a crush mistakenly brought up in conversation. “Or as something more?”

“Well, yes,” Böðvarr said. That blush was still there, but stronger now. He wasn’t looking away from Höttr either. “As friends and as an admirer. You’re very smart, and sweet, and I’ve been unable to stop thinking about you.” 

“I like you, too,” Höttr said, swallowing a bit. “As a friend, and as a sweetheart.”

The smile Böðvarr gave at that made Höttr feel even warmer than before, and he returned it as it spread through his chest. He did lean forward a bit, so their knees more firmly touched, and this time he reached out to take Böðvarr’s hand with his own. It was firm within his grip, and he could feel a scar that was barely visible to the eye. 

“Can I kiss you?” Böðvarr said

“I, yes,” Höttr said. His face was surely red at this point, and he had never kissed anyone before so he wasn’t sure exactly what he was meant to do.

Böðvarr turned a bit, moving the hand that Höttr had been holding but replacing it with his other as he took his right hand and traced a path down the side of Höttr’s cheek. He tilted his head up to the touch, and half shut his eyes as Böðvarr leaned forward. 

The press of their lips together was gentle, and any worries he had fled Hötrr’s mind as all he could think of was that Böðvarr was kissing him and that there was a lot of space between them. 

Böðvarr pulled back a bit, and when Höttr smiled at him, he leaned forward and kissed him again, putting an arm around Höttr’s shoulders to pull him closer. He wasn’t sure how long their kiss lasted, since it seemed both an instant and an eternity, but they sat back just as Höttr lost what little breath he had left. He sat there smiling up at Böðvarr, savoring the feeling of his arm around his shoulders, holding him close.

“Was that alright?” Böðvarr said..

Höttr nodded, and said, “Yes.” He let himself be pulled closer, and felt the warmth from Böðvarr’s side spreading into him. He shut his eyes, enjoying this moment of being held. “Are we… sweethearts now?”

“If you like,” Böðvarr said, his voice a little gruff and his cheeks pink.

“I’ve never had a romance before, or composed a verse in my life, but I’ll do my best to court you all the same, dear friend,” Höttr said lightly, smiling as he spoke.

Böðvarr grinned, and said, “I look forward to it. My verses will be even worse, let me warn you.”

“I shall like them all the same,” Höttr said, moving closer to him on the bench where they sat. Böðvarr put an arm around him, and they sat up finishing their cider until the fire burned down.

**Author's Note:**

> So, most of these events actually happened in the saga, I didn't make up the bone throwing. This follows the saga pretty faithfully, but with the addition of some romance. The bathing, being sent by his parents, and bone yeeting is all canon, then Böðvarr getting recruited right after. Sadly, Hrólf is actually the main character of the saga, and there isn't much more of Böðvarr and Höttr after this point in the story, but I've got a few more ideas I might write about them and their further adventures.
> 
> Hrólfs saga kraka is excellent, 10/10 would recommend.


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